


Ours

by hunters_retreat



Series: Terminator: The Winchester Chronicles [21]
Category: Supernatural, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: Crossover, F/M, M/M, Multi, Post-Apocalypse, Sex with Metal, Sibling Incest, Uncle/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2019-03-20 13:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13719111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunters_retreat/pseuds/hunters_retreat
Summary: He pushed closer to the doorway because he was John Fucking Connor and he didn’t have a choice.





	Ours

**Author's Note:**

> an AU Verse where Sam and Dean Winchester stopped the apocalypse but humanity didn't stop Judgment Day.  The Winchester brothers are close members of John Connor's rebellion.    Beta'd by the awesome  [](https://slvrbld747.livejournal.com/profile)[slvrbld747](https://slvrbld747.livejournal.com/)

 

Nothing was the same lately.  Derek was running from John in whatever manner he could; missions taken before John could protest and walks down deserted hallways to hide when John had to stay in the light.  Sam was still himself, but his eyes turned white or black and John didn’t understand the how or why just that those black eyes – the Boy King they’d called him – had turned Sam into a threat John didn’t know how to handle.  Dean was distant, his gaze always going to Sam before he began to reassess the threats to his brother.  Cameron was the same but her cold emotionless state was as comfortless now as her unwanted fake emotions.

John craved the companionship that had once been his, the banter and free laughter that had filled his bunk on the rare nights they could comfort one another.  That had all ended when John Connor had sent Kyle Reese to be a martyr.

The men didn’t complain as John walked the halls.  He was ever their confident capable leader.  They knew the stories; trained from childhood in the arts of war, John would someday lead the human resistance to victory over the machines.  There were some people who doubted the stories, people from other factions of the resistance.  When their leaders fell, or dissent in their own groups became too big.  John took them in so long as they played nice and respected each other.

He rounded the corner to check on the barracks.  It was past lights out and few of his men were allowed to roam the halls.  Patrols swept by with a stiff nod of their heads and an even stiffer salute that John acknowledged curtly.

He moved past them quickly, too aware of his ‘status’ and feeling the never ending ache that had come as he watched the people he cared for most  pulling away from him.  He didn’t blame them  but they knew him better than anyone else ever had or ever would.  John had three men he counted on to keep him sane and he could never allow himself that comfort again.  They made him hesitate, made him question his motives because he feared losing them.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

The whisper caught his attention and John stilled before creeping closer.  The door was slightly ajar into the large room they used for training.  The words were conspiratorial and it made John’s pulse jump to hear at night in the bunker.  There were only four men who had permission to move at will whenever they wanted.  If it wasn’t them then it was something he knew he had to hear despite how much he wished it otherwise.

If it was them, he would want to hear it even less.

He pushed closer to the doorway because he was John Fucking Connor and he didn’t have a choice.

At the edge of the door, he could peek in.  They were sitting across the room on a pile of old coats and clothing that they used as mats.  The coats and cloth were too shredded for use and anything that could be saved had been.  Nothing went to waste, even the scraps had found a purpose.

Now, it held the people he cared for most, whispering words he shouldn’t be listening to.

“What else are we supposed to do, Dean?” Sam asked.

“We don’t give up on family.”

“He isn’t your family, Dean,” Derek said, a hard edge to his voice.  John didn’t like the way it was directed at Dean, whatever the anger in his voice, it wasn’t meant for Dean.

Dean gripped Derek’s shoulder, but his eyes turned to Sam.  “Family don’t end in blood.”

Sam nodded as he leaned forward, his chest bumping against Dean’s back as he touched Derek’s knee.  “We know what happened to Kyle.  We can’t undo that.  We can’t make that better.  You aren’t alone though.  Right now, he is.”

“Self-imposed,” Derek said, as if reminding them.  “He chose to lock himself away, to push us all out.  Not even the damn metal is close to him anymore.”

John nearly gasped as he realized they were talking about him.

“So then we bust into his quarters and tie him to the bed until he stops.”

Sam let out a small laugh as he dropped his head to rest on Dean’s arm.  Sleep was obviously pulling at the younger Winchester but he was fighting against it.  “Dean, not every answer lies with bondage.”

“If you do it right it does.”

John didn’t need to see Dean’s smirk to know it was there.  He felt himself smiling in response to it, to the banter and to the fact that they still cared about him enough to worry.  Not John Connor the savior, but John, the man, the lover and sometimes friend.

“So what now?” Derek asked.  “I lost my brother.  I won’t lose John too.”

“We’ll find a way to get him back Derek,” Sam said in that soft, confident voice that won people over.  “He doesn’t want to be alone.  He’s punishing himself for what he’s done, even if he’s always known it was coming.  We keep an eye out and we take the next opportunity to remind John of what he is.”

“What is that?” Dean asked.

Sam smiled at Dean, but his eyes flicked past Dean to where John watched through the slit in the door.  John could swear that Sam caught his eyes before looking at the others.  “Ours.”

 

 


End file.
